


Are You Lonesome Tonight?

by slytherin394



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, at the beginning, but it ends well I promise, kind of i guess??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7770331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherin394/pseuds/slytherin394
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco meet again a few years following the last Wizarding War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are You Lonesome Tonight?

**Author's Note:**

> This is set a few years after the end of Deathly Hallows. They're probably like...20 years old or something.

Harry was beside himself after the War. With his absence, Ginny had grown closer—much closer—with Dean again, and, well, Harry knew it was to be expected. He wasn’t there. He couldn’t give Ginny what she needed—love, touch, reassurance. He could have been dead for all Ginny knew.

When Harry broke her heart, saying that they needed to temporarily end their relationship out of concern for her safety, she understood. And she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But she grew tired of waiting for him. It was then, when Dean and she rekindled their relationship.

 

Draco refused to leave with his parents when the war really broke out. He wanted to fight—to do something, something that would give him any sort of redemption. He’d never been more scared than when Voldemort stood before him, asking anyone to step forward and join him. Sure, that man—and that’s all he was, really, a man—stood in his own house, shed blood on his own floors, but something about seeing Harry’s dead body in Hagrid’s arms, seeing Voldemort absolutely giddy with the fact that he had won….Draco would’ve done anything to change the way his life had turned out.

It was exceptionally lonely, being Draco Malfoy. Sure, he had “friends,” but those two dumbasses couldn’t know one end of a broomstick from the other. He envied the relationship the famous Harry Potter had with Granger and Weasley. Draco never had that. He had always been, utterly and truly alone.

And it sent him to a very dark place for a very long time.

He supposed he blamed most of it on his father.

Lucius was never a dad. He was merely a father and nothing more. He never taught Draco how to ride a broomstick—he paid for lessons for that—and he never even so much as glanced at the drawings young Draco had given him. Most Ministry parents would hang up their children’s drawings in their office, proud to be the parent of such a wonderful child.

But not Lucius.

No, Lucius was cold and unforgiving. He was absent and distant. Narcissa was always the kind one. She was a mother, after all. Draco confided in her every wretched thing he ever felt about his father, and Narcissa let him.

Narcissa and Lucius were in love at some point, surely. But that hadn’t been for a very, very long time.

She never knew what made him change. For the longest time, Lucius was a Death Eater and a loving husband. Soon enough, though, he became a Death Eater and only a Death Eater. His loving husband side had vanished.

Narcissa dealt with this, if not for her own sake, but for her son’s. Draco had already been through so much. He didn’t need his parents to get a divorce after the War. So she remained loyal to him even though Lucius was locked up in Azkaban. She never married again. She died a loyal wife and a loving mother.

The Manor was now Draco’s and he didn’t really know what to do with it. After a while of thinking—too much thinking, if he was being straight—he took out some gold and completely renovated the Manor. New flooring, new paint, new doors and windows and furniture—new everything. He did all he could to scrub the memory of blood and Dark magic from his home.

It was then that Draco could sleep soundly.

 

Harry decided he didn’t want to become an Auror anymore. He’d had his fair share of fighting Dark magic to last him several lifetimes, and then some.

Hermione said there’d always be a position for him at the Ministry, but time and time again, Harry refused. Ron told him he and George could always use an extra hand at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes—and Harry stopped by every now and again.

Harry didn’t really know what he wanted to do.

He thought he’d try and get a flat in Muggle London, somewhere that he wouldn’t be asked for autographs and photos every damn day. Not that there was anything wrong with that, he just wanted a normal life.

It’s funny, isn’t it?

Harry Potter wants a normal life….There was never anything normal about him, was there?

He applied for a part-time job at the local Tesco. Without a Muggle education and no A levels, he ended up having to Confund the manager. He didn’t even need the job, really. He had more than enough Galleons to last him a lifetime. He wondered what his parents did for a living, how they’d managed to save up so much gold for their son.

Harry wanted a distraction. He could sit around his flat and do nothing, all day and every day. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t sit there and let his mind wander…he couldn’t bear to think about the death count after the War, about how many people have died for _him_ , about how much sacrifice has been for _him_. It would eat him alive.

So he continued to work the cash registers at Tesco and help Muggles find the produce they’re looking for. He continued to wear his stupid Tesco shirt and tie, continued to mop the floors after there’d been a spill in aisle 7, continued to blend in.

Maybe he’d write a book. Maybe he’d get a dog. Maybe he’d go on one of those Muggle dating sites and find himself a wife or a husband, who knows?

 

Draco slept on the couch most nights. He slept with the TV or the radio on. He couldn’t sleep in his room, not alone. There had to be some white noise in the background. Living by oneself in a large mansion wasn’t the most comfortable way to live.

His days were spent lounging on the couch, eating minimal meals and sleeping. He figured if he was asleep, he wouldn’t have to deal with reality. It was nice, for a while. But eventually it only made Draco more miserable.

He lay on the couch, staring up at the high ceiling. He wondered what Granger and Weasley were doing. Probably making ginger babies or something. He laughed. He thought about Harry, thought about how he was doing, what he was doing.

He remembered sitting in the library late at night, doing his ridiculous Transfiguration essay. He was smart, sure, but that didn’t mean he had the patience or the interest in doing his homework. Because of this, Professor McGonagall paired him with Harry. She knew that when Harry wasn’t copying off of Hermione, his own work was Outstanding. She figured he’d help Draco with his. Draco wasn’t exactly getting Outstanding grades as of late.

Though Harry was a bit preoccupied— _that_ was putting it lightly—with the Triwizard Tournament, he managed to make time, however reluctantly, to help Malfoy with his homework.

There was no one else in the library—they’d all gone to bed. Only Harry and Draco remained. Really, it was because the both of them were incredible procrastinators and put off this homework session for as long as possible. This made for tension so strong you could taste it.

“Why aren’t you writing?” asked Harry, annoyed at Draco’s lack of word on his parchment.

“I don’t want to,” replied Draco simply.

“You have to turn something in tomorrow, you know that?”

“I’ll just copy off you.”

“No, you won’t.” Harry defensively shielded his parchment by putting his arm in front of it.

“Pfft. Like you don’t copy off Granger.” Draco rolled his eyes.

“That’s different!”

“Oh, yeah? How?”

Harry’s ears turned red and he dipped his quill into ink.

“Yeah, ‘s what I thought,” mumbled Draco, just loud enough so that Harry could hear.

Harry slammed down his quill on the table.

“Why are you being difficult?”

Draco shrugged, taking interest in a random book that was lying on the table.

“Just do your bloody homework, Malfoy.”

Draco, ignoring Harry, stood up and began to walk around the room. Harry was just about done with his essay. He glared at Draco out of the corner of his eye as he walked around him. Harry was seething with annoyance. When he finished his essay, he stood up so fast he felt dizzy. But that didn’t stop him from getting angry at Draco.

“Dammit, Malfoy!” said Harry, exasperated. “I’m sitting here, trying to help you write your bloody essay and you’re not cooperating. As if I don’t have enough on my plate right now!”

Draco turned around and stepped closer to Harry, his hands balled up in fists at his side.

“And I don’t?” growled Draco. “You think you have it so hard, don’t you, Potter? Poor Harry Potter—”

“I’m only trying to help you!”

“—his life is _so_ difficult! No mum, no dad—”

“At least my dad’s not a—”

Draco, on impulse, gripped Harry by the collar of his shirt and pulled him towards him. Draco pressed his lips against Harry’s, their bodies flush up against each other’s. They kissed like they were trying to devour each other alive, like they were each other’s own supply of oxygen. Draco was surprised Harry even kissed back in the first place.

Draco backed Harry up against the library table, his grip on Harry’s waist bruising. They continued to kiss until they needed to breathe.

“You never shut up, do you?” whispered Draco, nipping harshly at Harry’s lower lip.

Harry was stunned. He didn’t know how or why the hell that just happened, but he wasn’t repulsed. Hell, he kissed back for Merlin’s sake. That had to mean something, right?

Harry was frozen in place. He didn’t say anything—couldn’t say anything. Draco stepped away from him and grabbed his things before leaving the library, homework still unfinished.

They never talked or acknowledged their kiss after that, not for years.

 

Draco continued to lie there on the couch, thinking. He knew Harry kissed him back, there was no denying that. He wondered what would’ve been different if they had talked about it, though.

A while later, Draco walked over to the refrigerator and looked inside. Some leftovers from the other day—or other week, he couldn’t remember—some yogurt, and a bottle of pumpkin juice. Not much.

He sighed before Apparating to central London.

He took a shopping cart and wandered throughout the store, grabbing groceries for the week. He paid no attention to anything else.

Once he was in line, he loaded his things onto the conveyor belt. He was getting a headache, probably because he hadn’t eaten yet today. What time was it? Almost two in the afternoon?

“Hello, did you find everything you were—”

At the sound of a very familiar voice, Draco looked up at the cashier. The cashier looked back, just as surprised.

“Harry?” asked Draco. His first name sounded foreign coming out of his lips. It had been a while since he’d called him Harry. Or had he ever called him anything but his last name?

“Draco.” Draco found that he liked the way his name sounded when Harry said it.

Harry looked absolutely exhausted. He had bags under his eyes and his lips were chapped. He had a lovely five o’clock shadow going on, and his eyes were as green as ever.

The two blinked, staring at each other. Draco was wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. His hair was a mess from lying on the couch all day, and his eyes, too, had bags under them. It wasn’t exactly the way Draco would have been dressed had he _known_ Harry—Harry _fucking_ Potter!—worked at Tesco— _Tesco_!

“What are you doing here?” asked Draco.

“I work here.”

“Right.”

“Ahem,” piped in an elderly woman who was behind Draco in line.

Harry immediately began scanning Draco’s items and bagging them. Neither of them said anything. When Draco took out his wallet to pay for his groceries, Harry looked at him. It was a while since he’d seen any of his former classmates—even Ron and Hermione. It was weird.

Draco looked just as worn as Harry.

“I’ll see you ‘round, then. Draco.”

“Harry.” With a nod, Draco was off, still frazzled by seeing someone he thought he’d never see again.

He had so many questions. First of all, why the bloody hell was Harry Potter working at Tesco?

 

Over the next few weeks, Draco visited Tesco far more than was necessary, buying things that he didn’t even need. He bought oatmeal, for crying out loud. He _hated_ oatmeal.

But the small encounters with Harry were worth it. With each visit, Draco could see that Harry was looking better. He’d shaved, cleaned the smudge off his glasses, started wearing lip balm. He wondered if it had anything to do with him.

One Tuesday afternoon, Draco was looking intently at some cans of soup when he sensed someone walking towards him.

“Too many choices, right?” asked Harry, standing next to Draco. They didn’t speak for a good thirty seconds.

“What are you doing here, Harry?” said Draco finally.

“Trying to blend in, I ‘spose.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Potter!” called the manager who was walking past. “Back to work, yeah?”

Harry nodded.

“I better go,” he said, but Harry made no indication that he was going anywhere.

“You wanna get a coffee? When your shift’s over, I mean?” asked Draco. “You know, to catch up.”

Harry was grateful for the invitation. It’d been a while since he actually sat down and talked with someone.

“Yeah, sure. Four o’clock.”

“What?”

“My shift. It’s over at four o’clock.”

“Oh, right. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Alright.”

“I’m gonna go back to work now.”

Harry walked away.

Draco, sat outside Tesco looking like an idiot. He had nowhere to go, really, so he figured he’d wait for Harry outside.

When Harry did come out, he wasn’t expecting to see Draco waiting for him.

“Where to, then? There’s a little place right over—”

“Well, I’ve got this new Muggle coffee maker at home and I thought we’d have coffee there.” Draco realized that he should have told Harry this before, when they were inside, because Harry looked hesitant. He didn’t exactly have the fondest of memories at Malfoy Manor.

“Oh, alright then.”

They walked to an alley where they could Disapparate in private without any Muggles freaking out over two people vanishing out of nowhere.

They stood there, awkwardly. They could hold onto each other’s arms or shoulder, hell, even a leg, to Disapparate, but it was much easier to hold hands when Disapparating.

Harry wasn’t sure what to do.

Neither was Draco.

“Just—uh—take—take my hand?” It came out more like a question than a statement.

Harry grabbed onto Draco’s outstretched hand and they Disapparated with a loud crack.

They appeared in front of the tall elegant gates in front of Malfoy Manor. Harry clutched his stomach with the hand that wasn’t holding Draco’s.

“What’s the matter?”

“Been a while since I’ve Disapparated, is all.”

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a few seconds.

“Okay, I’m fine. Lead the way.”

They walked through the gate still holding hands. It wasn’t until they were almost by the front door that Draco let go of Harry’s hand. Draco cleared his throat.

He unlocked his door and they walked in.

“So, uh, make yourself at home, I guess. The kitchen is over here—”

Harry looked around and he didn’t even recognize the place. It was so different since the last time he’d been here. He stood, frozen, in one spot, just taking it all in.

“Wow.”

“—and the bathroom is down that hallway—what?”

Draco turned around and looked at Harry.

“It’s just—different.”

Draco looked to the side, sheepish.

“Yeah, I remodeled the whole place. Too—uh, too many memories.”

Harry just nodded.

“So, here’s the kitchen.” Harry followed Draco into a lavish kitchen, granite countertops and ebony cabinets—it was gorgeous.

Draco opened the pantry and asked Harry, “What kind of coffee?”

“Oh, uh—surprise me. Just—don’t poison it,” Harry joked.

“I would never,” said Draco with a smile—a _smile_. How long had it been since he’d last smiled?

There was no conversation as Draco proceeded to make their mugs of coffee. When their coffee was ready, they moved to the sofa in the living room to drink it.

“So uh, how—how are you?” asked Harry, unsure of how to begin the conversation.

“I’m—not okay,” croaked out Draco.

“Me neither.”

At this, Draco looked up at Harry, surprised. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, was not okay?

Harry continued, “I try to forget, you know? I try to forget it all, to start over. And I can’t.” He sipped his coffee.

“I know how you feel.” Draco looked at the tile on the floor. “I don’t sleep in my room anymore; I can’t. I sleep here.” Draco patted the couch and Harry suddenly felt like he was intruding. Draco slept on the very couch they’re sitting on. For some reason Harry felt that it was too intimate.

“I’ve still got nightmares—of him.” He didn’t need to say who. They both knew he was talking about Voldemort.

“Me too.”

Soon enough, Their coffee diminished and Draco stood up.

“I’ll get us some more coffee,” he said. He bent over to pick up their empty mugs from the coffee table.

When he went to the kitchen, Draco stood there, leaning over the counter, head hanging low. He took deep breaths. He wanted—desperately so—to have someone close to him; he craved touch. With another human being inside his home, it hit Draco just how lonely he was. He hadn’t so much as talked to someone other than himself in months—almost a year.

He picked up one of the empty mugs before walking over to the other side of the counter to start the coffee. On his way there, he accidentally knocked over his own mug that rested on the countertop.

At the sound of glass breaking, Harry ran into the kitchen, wand at the ready.

“Draco?”

Draco was looking at the broken glass on the floor, staring at it like it held the meaning of life in its shattered pieces.

Harry walked in front of Draco, putting his hand on Draco’s left arm, to which Draco flinched but didn’t pull away.

They looked at each other for the longest time.

Draco was the first to move. It happened so suddenly. He pretty much jumped at Harry and leaned closer to him until they were flush against each other, much like they were that one night in the library so many years ago. They breathed each other’s air, close enough to kiss.

Their lips were ghosting over each other’s. Draco held Harry with an iron grip, and Harry held him back the same. They stood like that, close but not kissing. Harry’s eyes roamed over Draco’s features—his grey eyes, his pink lips. Draco had his eyes set on Harry’s full mouth.

It was then that they kissed. It was slow, languid, sensual. Everything they couldn’t put into words, they put into their actions.

Somehow, in the middle of their kissing, Draco had been hoisted up onto the counter, his legs wrapped around Harry’s waist. They took their time kissing and exploring each other’s bodies with shaking hands and trembling lips.

“I needed this,” whispered Harry against Draco’s neck.

“I needed it too.”

“It feels so good to touch you.”

“Kiss me again.”

Harry obliged and kissed Draco full on the mouth, biting his lower lip, earning himself a sound from Draco that he’d love to hear every day for the rest of his life.

They rested their foreheads against each other, breathing heavily, cheeks flushed. Draco began laughing—a heartfelt sound that made Harry feel something deep in his chest.

“Why’re you laughing?” asked Harry.

“I can’t believe you work at _Tesco_ ,” replied Draco.

 

That night, Draco slept in is room for the first time in months, his arms wrapped around a dark haired boy with striking green eyes and a lightning bolt shaped scar.

All was well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated. I'm supposed to be editing my novel but instead I wrote this. Oops ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Feel free to follow me on social media!
> 
> instagram: slytherin394  
> twitter: slytherin394_  
> tumblr: thescienceofsimplicity


End file.
